Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) (22 page)

“Whoever killed him should get the death penalty,” I said.

“Goddamn straight!” He was suddenly animated, eyes bright with anger and pain. “Eddy was … Eddy didn’t deserve that. Getting shot like some goddamn animal. He was … yeah, he was a good kid. Death penalty’s too good for whoever did that.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

The boy-man sniffed and ran a sleeve over his nose. “Billy. Billy Cranny, but you know that part.”

“Has the sheriff been by to talk to you about Eddy’s death?”

“He came around to tell us when it happened. Hasn’t been back since.”

“So he hasn’t asked you anything about what Eddy had been doing recently? Nothing about who he’d been working for or who he’d been hanging out with?”

Billy shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“That son of a bitch,” I said, mostly because it needed to be said.

So what had Sheriff Bob been doing in the last couple of days? He hadn’t been interested in finding Ruby June, and he hadn’t been asking questions about Eddy. Was he simply the world’s laziest sheriff or was he not asking because he already knew the answers?

Billy suddenly looked at me, really searching my face for the first time. “You’re that one! The girl who stopped Carl Cress from hitting on Eddy.”

Surprised, I gave a shrug and a nod.

“You told Carl that Eddy was a Shore now. That’s about the last thing Eddy ever said to me. How he never expected no Shore to own him. Meant a lot to him.”

To my astonishment, Billy held out an extremely grubby hand. I took it gingerly and let him pump my arm up and down. Then what he was saying finally registered.

“Wait, you spoke to Eddy that night?” I didn’t tell him that I’d been thinking that was the last time anyone but his killer saw Eddy.

“Yeah, he stopped by,” said Billy, eyes sliding away from me. He shifted uncomfortably, then sniffed and ran his hand under his nose. The same hand he’d just shaken mine with. “I owed him some money. Look, I ain’t proud of it, and I’d do it differently if I could and that’s a fact but I told him to fuck off.”

He stared at his feet, and I saw not an evil-tempered bully but a kid whose last words to his younger brother had been unkind. Words that, in all honesty, had probably been spoken hundreds of times, but which now echoed in his memory like the whisper of dirt on a coffin lid. He could never take them back now, and to my horror I felt tears burn at the back of my eyes.

“So what?” asked Kyla, speaking for the first time.

Eddy and I both jumped. I turned and gave her an appalled glance, but she ignored me.

“I mean it. So what? I tell Jocelyn to fuck off all the time. If you’re standing here feeling all sorry for yourself because your last conversation with your brother wasn’t all rainbows and roses, then you’re an idiot. If you cared about him, then he knew it, and if you didn’t, then he knew that, too. The last thing you said to him doesn’t mean squat.”

Billy was staring at her, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. Definitely a mouth breather. But he didn’t seem offended.

I pressed the advantage. “She’s right. The last thing you said isn’t important. But the last thing Eddy said to you might be. Because it might help us find out who did this to him. Did he tell you anything?”

Billy’s desire for justice for his brother warred with his innate reluctance to help another human being. However, after a not inconsiderable struggle he said, “Eddy wanted his money because he was clearing out of town. He said things had gotten out of hand, and he wanted out.”

“Did he say what things?”

“Nah, not exactly. But he was always running around after that goddamn Carl Cress like a whipped pup. I told him once, I said ‘Goddamn Eddy, you ain’t his bitch,’ but he always said the money was pretty good. Better’n what he could make at Walmart. And he liked hauling livestock. Cattle and goats going to market mostly, but Carl gave him a few gigs picking up weird shit for that T. J. Knoller guy.”

“Weird shit?”

“Yeah, you know, funny-looking animals. Zebras and whatnot. Once he had to go get a lion from a rinky-dink zoo that was getting shut down. He didn’t like that one. The lion scared him, and he said he felt sorry for it.”

A lion? Something seemed wrong about that, but I shelved it for later.

“But why now?” I asked. “Did something specific happen?”

Billy shrugged. “Him and Carl had a fight. Well, you saw.”

“He didn’t say what it was about?” I pressed.

Billy’s eyes shifted. “How the hell should I know? Why don’t you ask Carl?”

I stared at him. For one thing, he was lying. He knew exactly what Eddy and Carl had fought about. For another, apparently the Crannys weren’t on the main branch of the Sand Creek grapevine. Kyla opened her mouth to correct this gap in Billy’s education, but I gripped her arm hard enough to make her squeak. It was not a subtle move, but then Billy was in the process of hawking up a ball of phlegm and didn’t seem to notice.

He spit, watched the arc of the loogie until it pinged against an empty beer can, then wiped the backsplash from his lips with his hand. The same hand he’d used to shake mine. I suppressed the urge to rub my fingers vigorously against Kyla’s jacket.

“Are you thinking you might step in for Eddy and start working for Carl?” I asked.

“Don’t see why not. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Aren’t you worried that Carl might have had something to do with Eddy’s death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah. I’m sure Eddy thought that, too.”

He was scornful now. “Eddy was in over his head. I won’t be.”

“And Carl? Was he in over his head, too?”

Billy did not understand this, but was not the type to admit it. “We’re done here.” He took a menacing step toward us.

Well, sort of menacing. Kyla and I both topped him by a couple of inches, and I was pretty sure my left thigh weighed more than he did. Still, I hardly wanted to engage in a backyard brawl with the scrawny brother of my dead cousin-in-law.

“Fine,” I said, then turned to Kyla who was already in her fight stance. “You have something to write on? I want to give him my phone number.”

She threw me a disapproving look but began digging in her purse. Billy unpuffed himself, looking at the two of us with some perplexity. It probably wasn’t often that his imitation of a crazed terrier didn’t produce instant results.

“Carl Cress is dead. Shot in the throat,” I said as bluntly as I could.

“What?” he said, his voice squeaking a little.

I was watching him closely, and I was convinced that he hadn’t known. But his shocked expression was swiftly followed by something else, something I couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, he controlled himself and met my eyes defiantly.

I knew I’d lost. “You still won’t tell me what he and Eddy fought about? Fine. Here’s my phone number if you change your mind. Or you can call the police. But not Sheriff Bob,” I added. “Call the county.”

He reluctantly took the crumpled receipt on which Kyla had scrawled my name and phone number, and we returned to my car. He was still standing motionless where we left him as I reversed and drove away.

“I don’t like how that turned out,” I said. “He was planning something, and probably something not smart.”

“Gee, there’s a shocker. Billy ‘the Drooling Idiot’ Cranny doing something stupid? What a complete waste of time.”

“Not quite,” I answered. “We learned a couple of things. Eddy was planning to leave town because he was scared. That tells us he was involved in something pretty bad and almost certainly illegal.”

“And he was working for Carl Cress,” Kyla agreed. “You think Carl killed him?”

“I did until Carl turned up dead,” I said.

“Maybe he killed himself out of remorse or because he figured he’d be caught,” she suggested.

“I keep telling you, I don’t think he killed himself.”

“So there’s someone else involved. Someone who wanted both Eddy and Carl dead? Besides every right-thinking person who ever met either of them, who do you have in mind?”

I didn’t answer. I was replaying our conversation with Billy over in my head. I had the feeling that he’d said something important, but I just couldn’t quite grasp the fleeting thought.

She continued, “Sheriff Bob thinks it’s Kel, with or without Uncle Herman’s support. I suppose you don’t agree.”

“No. But what about Sheriff Bob?”

“What about him?”

“No, I mean what about Sheriff Bob as the killer?”

She turned in her seat to stare at me. “Sheriff Bob. The Sheriff Bob who drives the lead tractor in the Miss Sand Creek pageant parade on the Fourth of July? The Sheriff Bob who sits in the dunking booth at the carnival? The Sheriff Bob who puts on a Santa suit and lets the kids climb all over him at the Lion’s Club Christmas pancake breakfast? That Sheriff Bob?”

“For someone who hasn’t been out here in years, you sure know a lot about Sheriff Bob.”

She sniffed. “We both visited often enough when we were kids. And don’t change the subject.”

I sighed. “Fine. But think about it. He hasn’t been exactly on top of things, has he? He didn’t want to look for Ruby June. He hasn’t been out to talk with Billy. He told Aunt Elaine that Colin was going to Austin, even though he knew otherwise.”

“He says he didn’t tell Elaine that. And the other stuff? This is a man who spends most of his time dealing with cows breaking their fences and wandering onto the highway. He’s not exactly Sherlock Holmes, now is he?”

“Maybe not, but he’s hardly Inspector Clouseau, either,” I said. For all his good-natured community participation, Bob had always struck me as being both bright and dedicated.

“I’m sure he’s fine with what he usually has to do. But let’s face it, there hasn’t been a murder out here in this century. And being out of his depth hardly makes him a suspect.”

“Why are you defending him?” I asked.

“I’m not. He might be the killer for all I know. I just think your reasoning is flawed.”

She was right, of course. I had a handful of dubious facts and a bad feeling in my gut. Not enough to stand up in a court of law, but then again, I wasn’t in court. And no matter what Kyla said, something was not adding up when it came to Sheriff Bob.

Kyla said, “I didn’t know you supported the death penalty. Or was that just talk for Billy’s sake?”

“I go back and forth. Life in prison means getting beaten by the other inmates on a regular basis, which I’m all for. But then I figure that some of that time they aren’t being beaten and they might even be happy, so then I lean toward the death penalty. It’s a hard call.”

She stared. “You have thought about this way too much.”

I shrugged. She might be right. But on the other hand her best friend had not been murdered.

We drove another few miles in silence, and we were just turning onto the road that led to the ranch when a thought occurred to me.

“Do you think T.J. is still having his barbecue?”

“Um … no. He doesn’t have a lot to celebrate, now does he?” Kyla said. She had pulled a nail file from her purse and was busy rasping away at one of her nails.

“He said rain or shine, win or lose.”

“Yes, but that was before his jockey got shot. Why do you care anyway?”

“I think we should go.”

She stopped filing. “Are you kidding me? After he accused Kel of attempted murder? After he’s been hiding Ruby June?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “We were invited. I’d like to find out what kind of work Eddy and Carl were doing for him. Besides, he might know something about Carl’s other activities, and if he doesn’t, then maybe one of his people does.”

“Even if he does, do you really think he’s going to tell us?”

“No, but I think he might tell you.” I grinned at her. “I think he’d tell you anything you asked.”

She glanced down at her pink cardigan with its frills and pintucks. “Hmm.”

“Don’t you want to see him again? You were pretty interested this morning.”

“Yeah, but I told you—I didn’t like the way he tried to blame the whole racecourse shooting on Kel.”

“No, that wasn’t very smart if he was trying to impress you. On the other hand, he was upset. Did you get the feeling that an awful lot of money was on the line?”

“Now that you mention it, yes.” She frowned. “I wonder what happened with the bets.”

I hadn’t thought about that. “Surely the race was declared null and void or … well, whatever you declare a race. They won’t be able to award the prizes would they?”

She shrugged. “Uncle Herman’s horse crossed the finish line. I have no idea what they’ll do. But that’s something else we could ask T.J.”

I turned the car between two massive stone pillars that marked the entrance to T.J.’s ranch. The wrought-iron gate stood wide open, topped with two distinctive Ks under a single bar, and someone had tied a bouquet of red balloons to the bar.

“Looks like the party is still on.”

Kyla didn’t answer, and I felt a pang of remorse. “Look, if you don’t want to see him again, I can take you back.”

“And come back by yourself? No, that’s silly. I went on one date with him, and it was fun. There’s no reason not to go to his party. Besides, I have to admit I’m curious to see his place.”

I drove on. The road, though paved with caliche and gravel like most roads in the area, was in excellent condition and had been newly graded. Unlike most roads in the area that connected point A to point B in the most efficient way possible, this one meandered through thick groves of trees and around rocky outcroppings covered with prickly pear and yucca and across the dry rocky bed of a creek as though it had all the time in the world. Around another gentle curve, the trees suddenly opened to reveal a sweep of lawn and a ranch house that in any other location I might have referred to as a manor. Built in the style of a Spanish hacienda, the sprawling home was all white stone and stucco beneath a red tile roof. In the gray light of this fading November day, golden light spilled from arched windows onto stone walkways and landscaped beds of yucca, ocotillo, and agave. Half a dozen vehicles lined the curved drive, including a big SUV, a couple of extended-cab pickups, one black Mercedes, and a glossy yellow Hummer that reminded me of a bumblebee.